


me - bottomless pit of bad reflexes

by orphan_account



Series: afterlives + crush [2]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-04
Updated: 2014-12-04
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:54:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>there's something familiar about the curve of his nose, the blond curls, the red sweater, the fire in his eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	me - bottomless pit of bad reflexes

**Author's Note:**

> usual disclaimer applies - i don't own les mis, the characters, or crush by richard siken because i can't write that beautifully; i wish, though :-(
> 
> title taken from yolk by sarah kay! :-)

 

_“You could drown in those eyes, I said,_

_so it’s summer, so it’s suicide,_

_so we’re helpless in sleep and struggling at the bottom of the pool.”_

\--

He’s seen those eyes before.

(Blue, like the sky; blue, like the lake water; blue, like the sadness that half-fills him, the other half composed of booze and nihilistic views.)

There’s something familiar about the curve of his nose, the blond curls, the red sweater, the fire in his eyes.

(Graham’s fingers itch for a sketchbook and charcoal, but  _now is not the time_. This is Philosophy class. Not Art.)

The blond boy gestures animatedly, trying to get his point across with his take on one of Friedrich Nietzsche's works. Their professor opens their mouth to speak, but it just hangs there, and the boy crosses his arms over his chest and waits. The professor closes his mouth, looks at his watch, and frowns thoughtfully.  _I'm afraid we'll have to talk about this some other time, Elliott._

"Alright," is all Elliott says, and the professor claps his hands together, announces dismissal, and everyone takes their bags and leaves the room.

(There's something about Elliott that makes Graham feel he should know him; their paths must have somehow crossed before, maybe Graham saw Elliott at the park or in the mall, or -  _something_. He can't remember, and that confuses him.

But honestly? He isn't surprised.)

 --

 His fingers continue to itch for charcoal and a sketchbook.

Eventually, he gives in. (Except this one's his Philo notebook and a pen taken from the floor. Doodles of Elliott now reside in the margins and at the back, given that Graham didn't have much notes to write and begin with.)

They're discussing something about Albert Camus rejecting nihilism, which, Graham doesn't want to admit, is mildly interesting to him, so he doodles in his notebook - it starts out as swirls, into a profile of his professor, to the facial expressions of the people around him, to Elliott, whom Graham has taken to calling Apollo. (With a face like that, though, how can he not? It is too much for mere mortals to see.)

The rest of the period drags on -  _read page 51 of your books, please, I expect we'll be discussing that next meeting_  - Graham is still doodling when everyone else gets up to leave. He stands up, shouldering his bag and leaving for his flat (where he can drink himself stupid and then fall asleep, probably).

On the way there, he doesn't look for a mop of blond hair and a red sweater.

(Shit,  _of course_  he does.)

 --

He stretches his legs out and adjusts the position of his laptop, which was currently situated on his lap. (He hasn't got a roommate, and for that, he's forever thankful.)

He's been working for hours on end, pretty much met by a blank document staring him in the face. (Classics is his forte, and yet he can't get his fingers to move and type things out.)

Graham was never really the  _best_  student. Sure, middle school was a trophy case filled with achievements, but then high school came around and things went into a full-180 twist, and college was never kind to those that walked in its path. Though that wasn't to say he was a horrible student - he could pass all his tests just fine, but there were concepts in his classes that he flat-out disagreed with, so he held his tongue and tried not to interject and disrupt the lecture.

Time check - 1:30 AM. There are messages sitting in his inbox that he should check - some from Ella, some from Max, and he thinks it's a coincidence that it happened to be those two that sent him texts - but he's exhausted, lack of sleep and whatnot. He should go to bed.

He turns his laptop off and closes it, then sets it on his desk. Settles himself into bed, pulling the blanket up until his neck, and reaches out and takes his phone from the desk. He taps out a quick reply to Ella's texts about lunch plans tomorrow (s _ure, i'm up for whatever_ ) and reads Max's texts about Camille, and then it switches to a rant about one of his professors ( _s'ok, we've all been there_ , he ends up replying).

He puts his phone back on his desk and turns the lamp off (yes, a lamp, his sister insisted he get one - he doesn't admit that it  _is_  pretty handy), pulling the blanket up again.

He closes his eyes, and that night, he dreams of barricades, the Cafe Musain, and gunshots.

\--

He's ten minutes early to his Philosophy class the next day.

Elliott is there already, book in hand, glancing up when Graham enters and then focusing back on what he's reading. Two girls sit at the back of the room, chatting quietly and typing away on their phones. Graham takes his seat (second row from the back, first seat from the right) and pulls his notebook out, sketching nothing in particular, squiggly lines that end up unfolding into something else as more people enter the room and the class begins. As is his usual, he doesn't really listen, instead writing down arguments against the philosophies they're taking up and doodling his classmates' profiles - mostly Elliott, though, because there's a a memory that haunts him and draws his eyes to other boy. 

Then there's the usual - Elliott speaks up, the teacher explains or argues (it depends on the day), back to discussion  _or_  Elliott decides to speak up again and it takes up a lot of time just trying to explain his view on a certain philosophy. Class ends, everyone's dismissed, and Graham stands up and leaves to go back to his flat.

Halfway through the stretch of hallway that leads to the building's exit, he hears footsteps, someone running -

"Graham! Graham, wait!" He knows that voice. He turns around; it's Elliott.

"Graham," Elliott repeats, and stops in front of him, catching his breath. He hands Graham's notebook over to him. "You left this in the room."

Graham unshouldered his bag and rummaged through it. He  _did_  leave his notebook. He takes it and stuffs it into his bag, zipping his bag closed. "Thanks, Apollo," he replies, and Elliott makes a face.

"That's not –”

"Your name, I know. Did you, um, did you look through this?"

"No. Was I supposed to?"

"Of course not, what are you, nosy as fuck?"

"Uh, no? What are you even –”

"Do you remember...anything?"

"What?"

Graham rocks back on his heels, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Purses his lips, and chooses his words carefully. "I mean, do you remember meeting me before or anything? Because I'd definitely remember meeting you."

Elliott blinks, his face reddening. "I don't - um, I don't remember anything."

"Okay, I'm sorry, I - you just... you look incredibly familiar and I thought that, well..."

"You might have met me before?"

"Yeah."

"I'm sorry."

"It's okay, it's not your fault."

\--

It's looking at a sketch that he absently did during Classics that gets him thinking. It's a sketch of a barricade, and a few oddly-familiar faces, some of which he's never seen in his lifetime - a boy with dark curly hair, a small blond boy of about ten grinning widely... Elliott is among those familiar faces. But he's wearing a red coat this time, wielding a gun and standing beside the red flag positioned on top of the mess of furniture, the same fire in his eyes that Graham's seen in the other boy's eyes before.

He'd be lying if he said he wasn't disappointed when Elliott said he couldn't remember, because his gut tells him otherwise - he knows they've met before, and that would explain the dream with the barricade and the gunshots. It could have happened before, to a different person but the same soul, a different name but the same feelings. He knows there's something about the blue in Elliott's eyes, the blond curls, Graham's heartbeat rapidly increasing when he sees Elliott, feeling a sort of twist in his gut, a tug in his chest -

(He needs a drink. But it's warm in his bed, and the space between the fridge and his bed is not warm. He's too tired to get up.)

He sets his notebook back on his desk, and pulls the covers up.

He wonders -

what if Elliott was lying? What if he did remember and he didn't want to fess up to it because it would make things weird between them and they didn't even know each other that well? What if he dreamed about the Cafe Musain and the death, too? What if he knows what it all means? What if -

He wonders. He wonders about a lot of things.

(Like how Elliott's lips taste, and if he's tasted them before.)

\--

_“Are you there, sweetheart? Do you know me? Is this microphone live?”_

**Author's Note:**

> sO this is a really early update because i've decided to update every sunday (or saturday, if you live in the western part of the world), and life happened, so here we are.  
> also: ella is eponine, max is marius, and camille is cosette c: hope you all enjoyed it, this took an awfully long time because EXAMS cries a little.
> 
> edit: come and visit me on my tumblr - [dustysk1n](http://dustysk1n.tumblr.com/)! :-)


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